


Lilies at the Fire

by russiansimp



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arson, DND?, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fantasy, Knights - Freeform, No Lesbians Die, Sapphic, Swordfighting, Swordfighting Lesbians, Swords, bandits, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiansimp/pseuds/russiansimp
Summary: A short story from my creative writing class about some sword fighting lesbians, sparring with homoerotic undertones, and fighting with sexual tension... enjoy lol
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Lilies at the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Ngl I kinda adore these characters and want to flesh out the side characters, so if y’all like this I may continue this??

The sounds of crickets and other wild creatures drowned out our group as we advanced, enough to mask the crunching leaves between worn boots. We were using nothing but the light of sparkbugs to guide us, afraid the roaring glow of a torch would attract too much attention.

The Royal Guard seemed to think much like we did. They still had their bonfire, burning bright. They were still searching meticulously. They still had guards stand during the night, waiting for others—for us— to approach, to attack. And attack, we would.

It wasn’t a very well-planned raid. It was rather sloppy, if I were honest. The captain had only found out the guard was here two or three hours ago, but Korin was rather fast acting, and we simply had to trust him.

An arrow was fired, in place of a head, sat a tied sack of gunpowder. The recruit was new, but his marksmanship was impeccable. It landed in their bonfire, creating an explosion loud enough to rattle my bones.

“Cordelia, go!” Korin whispered, his voice as harsh as he could muster at that volume. “The captain’s tent is in the back center!”

I met eyes with him, nodding shortly. A quick turn on my heel helped me rocket off of my back foot; under the cover of the explosion, I dashed towards the tent that had been indicated. It was made of a sturdy blue linen, in my opinion, much too nice to be tent material. It would suit better as a dress.

I drew my sword before I even opened the tent flap. I flipped it once or twice, enjoying the balanced weight exerted on the handle. It was a carefully forged estoc, crafted for one of the highest sentinels in the guard. Too bad, though, that it ended up looted off of his body, and in my dishonorable hands.

The captain was barely waking from the loud noise when I slipped in. She was disorientated, in the dark, no clue what was going on. A smile twitched to my lips, hidden below my mask. I carefully poised my sword with its sharpened tip pressed against her Adam’s apple, dimpling the thin flesh ever so slightly. It would be so easy, with just a twitch of my wrist, to kill her where she lay.

Where was the fun in that, though?

No, it was much more entertaining to watch her scramble to find her own weapon, which sat on the other side of her bedroll. A Claymore I knew well, a blade that had dragged countless scars against my body. She blindly grabbed at it, barely finding the handle after feeling down the crossguard. She hacked it at my shoulder, though the clumsy strike barely dented the leather armor protecting my skin. Once she figured it hadn’t worked, she wound her leg up, kicking me hard in the stomach. It forced me to stumble back, but my grip on my weapon didn't so much as falter.

I coughed some, regaining my balance. “Now—” I gasped. “Is that any way to greet a friend, Captain Whitlash?” I asked. I could see the gears clicking together in her head. My voice was familiar, and I knew it.

“Blaze!” She growled, rearing herself to prepare for a proper strike. I pulled my mask down to puddle around my neck, grinning wide.

“Aye, in the flesh!” I chuckled, bowing in a fashion much too dramatic for the situation at hand. She came at me with an overhand throw, one that would be easier to duck than to block. I stepped around her, whipping the edge of my blade against her side—where the plates of her armor gapped, and there was only chainmail to protect her. It was more of the blunt force that caught her, earning me a groan of bland pain.

She didn’t miss a beat, spinning round to cut towards my shoulder. I caught her sword with mine in a cross, a move that was brute force against brute force. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet mine, then down to my mouth. “You’ve cut your lip,” she remarked, only slightly out of breath. There was a new slash across my face since I had last met her, running from my cheek, down through my lips, to my chin.

“Blame it on the boss,” I grunted, sliding my blade towards the tip of hers, effectively spinning out of her hold. “Sparring accident.”

“Who, the Cyclops?” She asked, backing up.  
“Aye—Cyclops is a wee bit of a low blow, don’t you think?” I asked, aiming for her side. She jutted her shoulder down, so it hit the plate of her armor. “Whose archer was it that shot out the old man’s eye?”

“Yes, mine, big deal!” She huffed. A dodge led her to stumble back towards the door, out of the tent entirely. I ran after her, my feet pounding hard against the ground. The rubber of my shoes had long since worn through at this point, and I could feel the rough terrain through the scrap of leather protecting the ball of my foot from the dirt.

“Wasn’t it Rosemary?” I asked, lunging forward. The point of my blade barely missed her. “Dreadful lass, she is!” She parried me quickly after, dancing around me to slash at my lower back. It actually stuck, and stuck hard. I could feel hot blood run beneath my armor, see it splatter at the dirt. I only faltered for a second, heaving to get my breath back. It didn't feel any better to have her rip the cold metal from my flesh, a disturbing squelch following the action.

“That would be Commander Koch to you!” She reminded me. I simply rolled my eyes, throwing a lazy strike towards her.

“I don’t need to afford any of ye’ the courtesy of a title, Lilliana,” I grunted. “Especially not her!” She seemed to falter when I used her name, which brought an amused, if not pained, smile to my lips. “I get it, you’re in love with her, but why would I, of all people, respect her?” I cackled. She spun her sword around my own blade, nearly knocking it clean out of my hand. My calloused fingers managed, though, and I kept it firmly in place.

“I am not in love with her!” She cried. I found it hilarious that here, locking swords with me, days before the end of times, she’d be playing petulant little games such as this.

“So defensive!” I laughed, jutting my weapon towards her. It only nicked at her armor. “Either you’re head over heels for her, or—” I ducked a slash thrown my way, “Maybe you’re just in love with me, aye? You have been letting me go an awful lot, lately!” I pointed out, slashing below her foot. It was enough to topple her backwards, though she was quickly back to her feet. “You could’a killed me a good many times, why haven’t you?”

She faltered. She stuttered. There was no way I was onto something here, was there? I cocked one eyebrow, though I doubted it’d be seen from under my hood. During one dodge, I caught sight of Korin from the corner of my sight, staring at me with that one eye. I swear to the gods, the hackit bastard was smiling at me.

Our blades caught in another cross. My arms were tired. I enjoyed sword fighting well enough, yes, but my real talent lie in archery. I could feel my arms shaking against the pressure, but I was sure not to let any doubt show to my face.

If I could just get her weapon to the floor…

I pushed back, forcing her to stumble. I wasn’t as heavy as she, what with that heavy steel plating, so it was slight. I grit my teeth, eyes lifting up to glare at her through dark lashes. I couldn’t read her facial expression. It was somewhere between anger, frustration, a touch of admiration. Maybe… somber.

“You want’ta kiss me so bad, it makes you look daft,” I scoffed.

There it was. That was enough to make her arms bend, and once I had the upper hand, there was no way she’d be extending her sword back out. I reeled my blade down to her hilt, twirling it out of her hand in one quick maneuver.

I grabbed her before she had a chance to reach down for it. I caught her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tugging her back up. I forced her to look at me, hoping to see the flicker of defeat I knew so well. I found it.

All too similar as to how she’d greeted me earlier, I wound my foot up, kicking her to her back. My boot stayed on her chest, as I brought my sword up, its offending end trained directly to her throat.   
I thrusted my sword down, aimed to kill.

Of course, though, I didn’t quite want to kill my plaything. It stuck into the dirt beside her neck, wobbling from the force. I dropped to one knee, swiping a sachet of coins from her belt.

“Til’ next time, Whitlash.”

I socked her in the nose, enough to knock her out. As the light faded from her eyes, rolling back into her head, I could hear her utter something.

“You damn bitch.”


End file.
